


What Happens in Lythikos

by whiskeyneat



Series: This Never Happened [2]
Category: Choices: Stories You Play, Pixelberry, PlayChoices, The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Smut, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-11 20:09:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13531644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyneat/pseuds/whiskeyneat
Summary: Olivia throws a ball (again), Drake gets fucking drunk (again), and what happens in Lythikos... Stays in Lythikos? A sequel to This Never Happened.





	1. Chapter 1

_Nothing lasts forever / But this is gonna take me down /  Wildest Dreams(Taylor Swift)_

 

"I know what's going on." How did Olivia get into his bedroom? Drake groans as a shaft of blinding light pierces through the moth-eaten drapes. He buries his head under his pillow. 

 

"Go _away_ , Ollie." Drake hasn't had a hangover since he was fifteen and chugged a bottle of Cordonian applejack on a dare, but he sure as hell has one now, and Olivia's idea of a "wake up call" isn't helping any. "Fuck the sun. Let it be night."

 

"I thought I told you not to call me that." Olivia smacks Drake on the shoulder. 

 

"Ow! Get away from me, witch!" Drake rolls away to the other side of the bed. 

 

"You're in _my_ house, in _my_ guest room. Uninvited, I might add. I think I can do whatever I want," Olivia says. "I know what's going on," she repeats. "Liam sent you here, didn't he?" 

 

Drake turns a baleful eye on her. She is smiling thinly, one hand on her hip. She looks, he thinks, like a vengeful queen from a tale of Olde Cordonia, like the one in the picture book his mother used to read to him and Savannah as a child. 

 

"Fine...fine. I'm up already!" Drake swings his legs over the opposite side of the bed and buries his head in his hands. "I got in late. I didn't want to disturb you."

 

"Is that why I found all those empty whiskey bottles on the floor of my wine cellar this morning?" Her green eyes spark dangerously. "Because you didn't want to _disturb_ me?" She holds up his discarded jeans, pinched between her thumb and forefinger. "Looking for these?"

 

Grumbling, he accepts his clothes from the night before, Olivia wrinkling her nose as she passes them across the bed. "Do you mind?" Drake snaps. "Let a man dress in peace." 

 

"You're in _my_ house. At least take a shower and put something clean on. If you're not going to apologize for drinking my whiskey, at least try to make yourself presentable." Olivia turns back at the door. "You can make it up to me by helping me with the preparations for the ball. You know what Riley likes... I know what Liam likes. Meet me downstairs in thirty minutes, please. There will be coffee." 

 

Is it possible to feel any worse? Drake didn't think so last night, but now, with a pounding headache and the realization that his best friend is marrying the woman he loves in three weeks' time... It's not only possible but it's sickening reality, and it's staring him straight in the face. 

 

"Fuck my life," Drake mutters.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_I remember years ago/someone told me I should take/caution when it comes to love – Impossible_ , James Arthur.

 

 _Tap, tap, tap_. Olivia drums her nails on the tabletop. _Tap, tap, tap._ They're bitten to the quick. 

 

"You rang, your grace?" The maid appears, breathless, in the doorway. Olivia recognizes her as one of the girls her steward hired from the agency, red hair cut into a bob that isn't doing her pug face any favors. She'll be here and gone, hired just for the few weeks surrounding the party. _Everything has to be perfect._ Olivia pinches the bridge of her nose. She can feel a headache coming on already. 

 

"Another pot of coffee, Tina." The maid curtsies, fleeing from the room. Olivia knows she has a certain reputation with the servants, but she's trying to be better... really. If these past few months have taught her anything, it's that a kind word to the right person can reveal the unexpected, that even an offhand gesture of thanks can open a hidden door. 

 

"So, this is where all the magic begins." Olivia looks up. Drake is standing in the doorway with an expression of faint distaste marring his handsome face. Is it the wanton opulence that disturbs him, she wonders, or the company? 

 

Her heart betrays her, it begins racing as soon as he crosses the room, and she straightens her spine, trying to appear casual. Her breath speeds up when he approaches the table. Her fingernails press into her thigh, willing herself to calm down. _He's only a commoner, and you are a Nevrakis_ , she scolds herself. _Don't let him get to you._

 

But it isn't working. 

 

Her eyes follow the line of his shoulders as he yanks a chair out and straddles it, his elbows on the table and his hands in his hair. He looks, Olivia thinks, like hell. "Where's that coffee you promised?" Even when he has a five o'clock shadow at one in the afternoon and he smells like too many whiskey nights, she still wants — 

 

"Your grace – oh, and Mr Walker!" The maid bobs a curtesy to Olivia, looking unsure. She settles on nodding to Drake, and places the gleaming silver carafe and two cups on the sideboard. Olivia doesn't miss the sidelong look the maid shoots Drake. He _does_ clean up good, even with bloodshot eyes and the rumpled look of a man who hasn't had a decent night's sleep since...

 

" _Ahem_. Are you done looking at me like something nasty you stepped in? I thought we were planning this... _thing_." Drake helps himself to a steaming Americano, black. He pulls a flask from the pocket of his jeans and spikes the coffee with a generous splash. "Hair of the dog," he explains, frowning at Olivia as she taps her fingernails on the paper in front of her. "Quit doing that. It's fucking annoying." 

 

Olivia rolls her eyes. This _infuriating_ man. "Are you going to sit at the other end of the table the whole time? Because I don't want to be shouting back and forth all afternoon." Her temples have begun to throb mercilessly. She stands up, making her way over to Drake and the espresso. "I hope you weren't planning on drinking all of my coffee as well." 

 

"What do you care? You can buy more of your 'fair-trade organic hand-picked' shit anytime."

 

Olivia bites her tongue. When he's in one of his moods, there's no reasoning with him. They always seem to bring out the worst in each other. It doesn't help that being near him makes her think of the heat of his tongue in her mouth, or imagine the roughness of his stubble against her inner thigh. She concentrates instead on pouring herself a cup of espresso, thick and rich. 

 

"Maybe _you_ should sit near _me_." Olivia turns around so quickly that coffee sloshes all over the carpet. She remembers another night, straddling his lap, his mouth on her breasts, and has to look away. "Or are you too high and mighty to share table space with a peasant?" He is unable to keep the sneer from his lips as he removes a crumpled pack of Gauloises from his pocket, tapping them against his wrist. "Well?" 

 

Olivia steps closer, and Drake pulls a cigarette from the package with his mouth, striking his match with one fluid motion on the sole of his boot. He blows a ring into the air, a challenge in his dark eyes. 

 

Olivia leans in. It doesn't escape her attention that his eyes wander to her breasts, no matter how much he tries politely to focus on her face. "I am going to murder you if – "

 

She doesn't get the chance to finish. He pulls her onto his lap, ignoring her squawk of protest. "That's better. Now, you were saying something about murdering me?" 

 

"After a long sojourn in the dungeons, of course," she replies without missing a beat. "You'll _beg_ for death." 

 

"As long as I don't have to be tortured anymore, I'll take what I can get." Drake inhales deeply from his cigarette, and the reminder that  they share a similar pain cuts her to the quick. Olivia cannot keep her mask on with Drake, and the realization is equal parts comfort and terror. 

 

Putting a hand on his chest, she springs out of his lap and walks back to her end of the table. She can feel his gaze on her back, and her whole body is tingling with the heat of it. Her fingernails press into her palms, leaving sharp little half-moons there. 

 

A cool breeze is blowing in the scent from the mountains through the open window: crisp air latticed with frost and the intoxicating perfume of applewood smoke. "Well? I don't have all day," Olivia announces. "The ball is tomorrow evening, you know." 

 

"Aw, hell." Drake saunters down the length of the table and sprawls into the chair at her left. "Are you sure we're the only people who can plan this? Don't you have an army of assistants?"

 

Olivia sips her coffee, studying Drake over the gilded rim of her cup. He runs a hand over his chin, dark with stubble. "I _need_ to do this myself, Drake. You know why." She's wearing her heart on her sleeve. She hopes he appreciates it. "Everything has to be..." she looks down at her hands, twisting together. "Perfect."

 

"Hey." Drake puts his hand over hers, stroking his thumb against the delicate skin at her wrist. "Don't cry, Ollie."

 

That ridiculous nickname. "He's the first man I ever loved," she says simply. "And since I've loved him longest and best, Riley is kind enough to allow me the distinction of hosting a proper ball in their honor." Drake brushes his finger across her lower lashes, a gesture that feels too tender even for their long acquaintance, and Olivia turns her face away, dabbing her eyes lightly with her handkerchief. "Liam sent you to keep an eye on me, be honest." 

 

"Maybe." Drake shrugs, taking a gulp of coffee. "Since we're being honest with each other, I... I had to leave court for a few days. Clear my head. I offered—" he swallows, tugging his collar. "I insisted. Bastien is covering for me until the court arrives tomorrow afternoon. Liam wanted to send Maxwell."

 

Olivia shudders. "Saints preserve us." 

 

"Aw, come on, he's not that bad. At least you'd still have all your whiskey." 

 

"That's enough lip from you, thank you very much, Mr Walker." Olivia says primly. 

 

 _Be careful, Olivia_ , she scolds herself, but can't help but notice that he is smiling. 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

 

 _And I don't blame you dear//For running like you did all these years//I would do the same, you'd best believe – Stubborn Love_ (The Lumineers)

 

"Let's see... I'm thinking this ball will pay homage to Cordonia." Olivia is making notes with her stylus, her posture perfectly straight, like she is carved from marble. "Blue and silver, but not over the top. A light dinner, some dancing, gambling, and plenty of champagne." She bites her bottom lip, drawing his gaze to the way she worries it between her teeth. "What do you think?"

 

Besides that he wants to kiss her senseless? 

 

Drake snorts. "It sounds boring as hell. What are we, ninety?" He stretches his arms above his head, shooting Olivia a cocky grin. He's flustered her, he can tell. She's so _serious_ today. He tries not to think about kissing her, but it's all he _can_ think of. 

 

Olivia frowns at him, tap-tapping her stylus against her lips. "Very well," she says. "A throughly _modern_ party." 

 

"That's more like it," Drake whispers, his lips near her ear, just to see her shiver again, to see the pulse quiver in her neck, like a vixen that has scented the hunt. "Dancing and booze and fireworks. Let the whiskey fucking flow like a goddamned river. We'll dance, and make the Cordonian waltz look so fucking dirty the press will think they've crashed a Beaumont bash." 

 

Olivia's mouth drops open, turning her face to him in shock. He loves to wind her up. "I am not riding horses in here!" 

 

"Who said anything about riding horses?" Drake growls playfully. "I was hoping you'd ride _me_ , but I'll take what I can get." 

 

Olivia playfully slaps his chest. "Naughty!" 

 

"You're just so easy to rile up," he teases, and the breeze blows in through the open French doors at the end of the ballroom, flirting with the tendrils of Olivia's hair and sending a delicate whisper of vanilla and caramel musk towards him that teases his nostrils and goes straight to his groin. Memories of the night of Liam and Riley's engagement rise in his mind, his hands buried in her hair, his tongue in her mouth, her scent driving him to madness. 

 

Drake backs away from Olivia, trying to ignore the hot frisson of arousal that courses through his veins. _It never happened_ , he reminds himself sternly. He doesn't dare study his own motives as to why he ever thought Lythikos would be an easy place to run away to, especially with Olivia Nevrakis in the flesh before him, his every sinful smoldering memory of that night written in her green eyes. 

 

"Why did you come here?" she asks suddenly, mirroring his own thoughts. "You could have 'escaped' the palace for a few days  anywhere else." 

 

Drake doesn't answer her. Instead, he catches her by the waist, and throws her over his shoulder. Olivia shrieks, pounding on his shoulders, and he strolls out the double doors, ignoring her protests, and straight into the maze. "I'll make you a deal," Drake says, setting her down. "You can have my undivided attention in planning this ridiculous party — _if_ you beat me to the center of the maze."

 

Olivia crosses her arms, glaring up at him. Drake realizes with a jolt that she's very, very close. If he wanted, he could kiss her now. He recalls the exquisite taste of her lips, and he leans in. "Deal," Olivia says. Then she is off running, and Drake has to catch his breath before he springs into a dead run and bolts through the hedges to catch up. 

 

•••

 

When he arrives at the center of the maze, Olivia is nowhere to be seen. Drake takes a swig from his flask, relaxing on the ornamental bench. He waits with his legs splayed out and his hands bracing against the edge of the bench, sure of his victory. 

 

"Ha! I win!" Olivia comes up behind him, putting her hands over his eyes. "Didn't see me behind the statue, did you?"

 

Drake swivels his legs around and pulls Olivia into his lap. "Now who's winning?" 

 

"Drake..." she says, stricken. "We need to talk." 

 

"Talk about what?" Drake nuzzles her neck. He is drunk with the scent of her skin, the taste of her. The maze hums with the sound of honeybees in the roses that twine along the hedges, and somewhere, a lark is singing. " _God_ , Olivia. You wore this scent just to torture me, didn't you?" 

 

"Not now, Drake." Olivia straightens, but she doesn't get off his lap. 

 

"Why can't I stop thinking about — You know what, you're right. I forgot. It never happened." Drake strokes her arm with one hand. "You're shivering. Here, take my shirt." He drapes his faded blue chambray shirt over her shoulders. "Better now?" 

 

Olivia gives him a small, tremulous  smile. Drake isn't sure why, but something about her expression makes him want to protect her. She strokes a finger down his cheek. "This was probably a mistake, wasn't it?"

 

"I don't know." He swallows, looking away. "I had to leave the palace. Liam is so happy — and Riley is just... It's like all my memories of her are lies." Drake takes another swig of his flask. "I've never seen Liam so in love, so completely... He's like another person." He's clenching his fists, and he sighs, letting them unfurl. "I can't just stop loving her. It's killing me to be around that, Ollie. It fucking _hurts_." 

 

"Oh, I know," Olivia whispers, her voice choked. "Why do you think I ran away? Riley knows I... She knows I love Liam. And she _pities_ me. I can see it in her eyes. I tried to hate her and I can't — she's going to be so good for Cordonia, Drake." Olivia sounds determined, as though she's repeated this to herself every night until she believes it. "She's going to be the queen we never knew we needed. I just..." Olivia takes his hands in hers. "Time is what we need and we don't have that luxury. We have to put on our masks, hold our heads high, and carry on."

 

"Holla!" 

 

Speak of the Devil. Olivia's off his lap so fast it's like she was never there at all. She waves to the figure who has emerged from the maze behind them, and Drake turns slowly, his heart beating like a drum. 

 

"Am I interrupting anything?" Riley whips her sunglasses off, setting them atop her newly pastel violet hair(Regina must have had conniptions), looking quizzically between Drake and Olivia. She looks like she's just stepped from the pages of a magazine, even if she is wearing her old skinny jeans and that ubiquitous black tank top — now they're _artfully_ distressed, and the tank top has a crown silkscreened on it that reads "Team Liam". How very _American_ of her. 

 

"No, we were just trying to see if the center of the maze was a good vantage point for the fireworks show," Olivia says, dusting herself off and handing Drake's shirt back to him. She rushes to greet Riley, and the two air kiss on both cheeks, European style. "You shouldn't be here, you'll spoil your surprise!" To Drake's familiar ear, Olivia's laugh is entirely too hollow. Riley doesn't seem to mind though, she's smiling at him tentatively over Olivia's shoulder. 

 

"Olivia, if you don't mind... Could I borrow Drake from you for a few minutes? Liam is at the house and I know there's a few things he wanted to finalize with you about the ball." Riley squeezes Olivia's arm. "We won't be too long, I promise." 

 

Olivia turns back to look at him. A sad smile plays at the corner of her lips, and just like that, it is gone, replaced by a polite mask that stabs his heart. "Naturally, Lady Houdini. I'll see you for before dinner drinks?"

 

"Right on, that sounds awesome." And then Olivia is walking away, with her back stiff and straight, and Riley is crossing the grass to him, and his heart is in his mouth, and he can't remember why he ever ran away from her in the first place.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

_ She'll tear a hole in you/The one you can't repair/But I still love her, I don't even care – Stubborn Love, _ Lumineers

 

Liam is in the portrait gallery when Olivia finds him. He turns, drink in his hand, grinning. "You caught me, Liv." He takes a sip. "Just taking the time to pay my respects to your illustrious ancestors."

 

Olivia joins him, shivering a little. It's colder in the portrait gallery than the main rooms of the house. She half-wishes she hadn't given Drake his shirt back so soon, but the thin fabric probably wouldn't have been much help anyway. "They were a bloodthirsty lot," she says by way of conversation.

 

"Oh, I don't know. This one looks a lot like you — beautiful and terrifying all at once. A man would have to be bold to take her on in matters of state or the heart." Liam gestures with his drink at the faded portrait of Zenobia Nevrakis, reimagined by some artist with a flair for the romantic in the 19th century. Olivia has always been drawn to that one but at the same time it gives her a haunted feeling, for reasons she can't quite understand.

 

"When did you get here?" she asks. _Why did you come?_

 

Liam gives her one of his knowing looks. "Just making sure you and Drake didn't kill each other. Besides — court is crazy right now, as you can very well imagine. We all needed a breather, if only for a day or so.”

 

"Ah, the truth is out." Olivia pokes him in the arm, and laughs, unguarded. "Well, I'm happy my duchy was the first place you thought of running away to."

 

"It was Riley's idea, actually," Liam says with a chuckle, toasting a portrait of some long-dead Nevrakis prince and completely missing the way Olivia's face falls. When he meets her eyes again, the polite, smooth mask is back. He doesn't notice the way Olivia twists her fingers behind her back, or the goosebumps that pucker the smooth flesh of her shoulders. "She thought it was unfair that Drake got to escape and we couldn't. So I made it happen," he says with an expansive gesture. "I hope it's not too much of an imposition."

 

"Majesty," Olivia says with a belated curtesy. "I am at your disposal... _Always_."

 

Liam smiles, his eyes kindling with pleasure. "I hope you approve of her. Your opinion means a lot to me, you know." He gives her arm a quick squeeze. "You are like family to me. My almost baby sister."

 

 _Oh, Liam, I love you so_. Her heart twists painfully in her chest and she looks at the floor, willing her breathing to even out. When she looks up again, he is gazing at her with an expression of concern, and reaches out a hand to pat her shoulder. "I'm sure that soon I'll love Riley like my own family too," Olivia promises staunchly.

 

"Good, because she's going to make you one of her ladies at court." Liam beams like he's just bestowed the gift of a lifetime on her. And to his way of thinking, he has.

 

_Time is what we need and we don't have that luxury. We have to put on our masks, hold our heads high, and carry on._

 

•••

 

Hana and Maxwell have come to provide a buffer, for which Drake is absurdly grateful — even if they don't know it, which he thinks they do.

 

"She looks beautiful tonight, doesn't she?" Hana perches next to him on the chaise, resplendent in a silver gown like a second skin. She is smiling so hard her face must hurt. He remembers what Olivia said about masks, and bites back a wince.

 

Drake casts his eyes on the group at the far end of the room. They've gone all out tonight, everyone except him — Maxwell and Liam in formal suit and tails, Riley in a chic electric blue sheath that brushes the tops of her knees, shimmering locks caught up with pearl-encrusted combs and piled elegantly atop her head. But it's Olivia who takes his breath away.

 

She's wearing a gown he's never seen before, something from another century by the looks of it. It's a deep, flame-red dress with a low neckline and a great, sweeping train that whispers silken secrets as she brushes past. Her hair is worn down, long and enticingly loose, beckoning him to run his fingers through it. _Taunting_ him. He swallows roughly.

 

 _This never happened, it will never happen again... She's a duchess, and you... you're just a filthy commoner, Walker. Sniffing around her like a dog... You'll never be good enough for a noble of the blood, a lady of Lythikos..._ The voices of the past echo down the years to him, and he clenches his hand around his glass, pushing them away.

 

As he watches, Olivia and Riley begin laughing at something Maxwell has said, and Maxwell sniffs Olivia's neck, which sends them all into peals of hilarity.

 

Drake is on his feet before he knows what's happening. "She does," Drake grinds through his teeth. He strides over to the group, leaving a very confused Hana trailing behind in his wake. "What's so funny over here? You're all disturbing my whiskey time."

 

"Oh, Drake!" Riley is flushed with champagne, giggling so hard she can barely take a breath. "You and your whiskey!"

 

"Livvy," Maxwell begins, and stops at the expression on Drake's face, holding his hands up.

 

"That's _Lady_ Olivia to you, Max." Drake growls.

 

"Oh, I wasn't aware we were all using our formal titles tonight!" Riley laughs. "How utterly dull!" She loops her arm through Olivia's. "Well, _Lady_ Olivia here was just showing _Lord_ —”

 

"I tried a new scent," Olivia says defensively, arms crossed over her chest. "Maxwell likes it, don't you?"

 

Maxwell looks worried, like he's just worked something out that can be used against him. "I said," and he swallows visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, "That it smells like piles of old money and —"

 

"Like a courtesan," Olivia finishes wickedly. "Sinful and utterly seductive." Her eyes are daring Drake to contradict her, and she smiles slyly. " _Lord Beaumont_ thinks I smell delicious."

 

"Uhhh..." Maxwell takes a step back from Drake, who can't seem to keep the scowl off his face. "You're scaring me, buddy."

 

Drake breathes through his nose, trying to calm himself down. "Are you sure?" he asks with his usual devil-may-care attitude. "You must be drunker than you thought. It's probably like sniffing paint thinner."

 

"Oh, no, she does smell delicious!" Hana blushes. "Sorry, Olivia, but you do! I can smell it from over here. It's sweet and spicy, like dark amber and frankincense, shot through with vanilla and cassia."

 

"The scent that launched a thousand ships," Liam proclaims heartily, earning him an arched brow from Riley. "What? Can't a King put his two cents in too? Let me guess... _Zenobia_ ," he proclaims, and the name shivers in the room. "What?"

 

"Don't say that name aloud in this place again," Olivia hisses. "But, yes. That is who the formula was made for originally." She shoots Drake a triumphant look, and curtseys deeply to Liam. "I am ever _your_ Duchess of Lythikos, highness. And now, I believe dinner is served." She takes Liam's arm, her fingertips resting lightly on his arm, and sweeps regally from the room.

 

Riley takes Drake's arm, though it's not exactly the correct order of precedence, and Hana and Maxwell bring up the rear. "What's gotten into her tonight?" Riley hisses. "I'm starting to worry, Drake."

 

"She's just playing a game, Houdini," he assures her, patting her hand. _And I'll be damned if I let her know she's already won._

 


	5. Chapter 5

_I hope to god I'll love you harder / I hope to god I'll love you longer / If only I could live forever / If only I could hold you longer_ – _2 Heads_ , Coleman Hell

 

 

Drake didn't think things could get any worse, until they did. He's sitting at Riley's right hand – that's a bonus, at least – but Olivia is sitting across from him and next to Maxwell, who is peppering kisses up her arm theatrically. He's going a little over the top, in Drake's opinion. Doesn't Maxwell know that the way to charm a lady is to intrigue her, not lay all your cards on the table?

 

"And I have a hippo tattoo on my..."

 

Obviously not.

 

They're all wonderfully, stupidly buzzed – from the alcohol and the company both. It should feel good to be spending this night with his friends. Really, it should. Instead, he feels grumpy and out of sorts. Maxwell is whispering something in Olivia's ear, and she's smiling wickedly, tracing one fingertip up and down the shaft of her goblet. When she catches Drake's regard, a wicked smile curls her lips, and she drops her eyes. They dart up again, meeting his gaze with a look that is pure challenge. Drake feels his pulse accelerate. If no one else was here, he'd throw her on the table right now, he'd undo every hook on the back of that ridiculous dress, kissing each inch of her flesh as it appeared, one by one. He would worship her flesh, nibbling on her nipples, lapping between her thighs with his tongue, and then he would spread her thighs apart, and fuck her senseless.

 

And he wouldn't care who heard them.

 

He adjusts himself in his chair, the image of the last time she came in his arms is scorched on his retinas: the way she arched her back, her hair tousled from his rough hands, her husky pleading: _Drake, Drake, Drake... Harder, deeper,_ _ **now**_ _..._

 

“… your hair is like a sheet of silk, and your eyes are like carven jade...” Maxwell takes Olivia's hand in his and kisses it over-exaggeratedly, playing it up for his audience. “Your grace, you are the lady of the hour, the beauty of a generation, the incomparble ingenué of – ”

 

"Christ. I can't take this shit anymore." Drake throws his napkin on the table and pushes his chair back with a loud screech across the hardwood floor. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in drinking in the study. _Alone_."

 

"Oh, no, Drake! You _have_ to stay!" Riley pleads. She tugs at the edge of his shirt, pulling at him until he scoots his chair back in, grudgingly; kneading his thigh under the table, fingers accidentally – or not so accidentally – brushing against his cock, which jumps against her hand. She smiles at him, a sudden half-hidden flaring of lust across her face, there for a moment and then carefully hidden. Drake is well and truly trapped now, and he thinks he can see a glint of jealousy in Olivia's eyes, but surely that's just a trick of the light? "We're going play Never Have I Ever!"

 

"What's that?" Maxwell asks, his eyes shining with curiosity.

 

"A game _you're_ going to lose, Beaumont," Drake assures him.

 

"Don't be so sure about that, Mr Walker," Olivia says. She stands up. "Shall we adjoun to the study? I have a bottle of _McLellyn_ whiskey in there, Drake – the kind you _savor_ ," she emphasizes, raising a brow. "Do you have a problem with that, or are you going to force me … _us_ … to suffer through the smell of that rotgut radiating from your pores all night?” She bites her lip and then leans across the table, breathing her last words. “Because I happen to like it when men smell … like _good taste_.”

 

He makes a strangled noise, and takes a huge gulp of whiskey, turning it into a cough. Riley's fingers are creeping up his thigh again, her 'accidental' touches without a shadow of a doubt entirely _intentional_. He wonders if it would be in “good taste” to push her away from him, but part of him still enjoys the attention, _craves_ it... He wonders how you stop loving a person, even when they have proved time and time again that they aren't someone you should trust with your heart. Once, he'd thought Riley was his, and his alone. Now, he wonders how he could have misread her intentions, how he could have been so blind... And if she is the kind of person who will commit infidelity on the King of Cordonia, what does that say about her as a queen – and what does that say about him, Liam's oldest and dearest friend? _Enough, Walker,_ he tells himself. _Put on your mask, and carry on…_

 

"I need to talk to you about something … important." Riley's soft lilt barely rises above a whisper. "Meet me in my room … alone." Then, aloud, she says, "I have to freshen up, but I'll be back in fifteen minutes for our game. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Liam."

 

The tender look that suffuses Liam's features makes Drake feel sick with guilt, his stomach in knots. Riley's hand squeezes his, firmly, possessively. She keeps a neutral expression on her face as she rises, nodding to the company, and slips out of the room.

 

•••

 

"Well, Mr Walker, are you going to join us, or are you going to run away like a coward?" Olivia sidles up to him, sinking into the chair Riley has just vacated. The others have gone off on their own accord, promising to meet back at the study soon. She can feel her mask slipping. She is sick to the heart of this farce, and she wants only for this night to be over, to throw herself on her pillow and weep for the life that should have been hers, for the love that slipped through her fingers when she least expected to ever lose it, for it was never really hers at all.

 

Drake fixes her with a look of disgust, and shoves his chair back from the table with a loud scraping noise. Olivia winces. That's sure to have gouged the finish. "You're a cold bitch, Lady Nevrakis."

 

He slams the door to the dining room so hard that it's a wonder it doesn't splinter off its hinges; Olivia chases after him into the hallway in a fury, but they both stop dead in their tracks as the sounds of ecstasy float down the staircase.

 

"Oh God! Yes, Liam, yes! Fuck me harder! You're the King!"

 

Olivia is shocked and – somewhat diverted. How _tacky_. She looks at Drake, and instantly regrets her amusement. He is rooted to the spot, stricken. She grabs him by the hand, pulling him after her, and into the linen closet three doors down. The sound of Liam and Riley's public lovemaking is muffled here, and she bursts into a flood of laughter.

 

"Shut up, shut up," Drake is saying, and suddenly his mouth is on hers in the dark, hot and insistent, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips. She opens her mouth to his with a sigh, and his hands are in her hair, kissing her so deeply she's forgotten how to breathe. Stars swim in front of her eyes and she _wants_ – oh, how she _wants_ – Drake breaks the kiss first, pulling away from her, and Olivia goes stumbling backwards harmlessly into the wall.

 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he's saying, and when he clasps her hand to help her she pulls him towards her easily, as though it was the place he always wanted to be, the place that felt like _home_ –

 

– and he's pinning her wrists to the wall, breathing ragged as he parts her legs with his knee, gasping as she sucks his tongue into her mouth, one hand cupping her jaw. He inhales sharply as slides her hands down his chest, palming his cock from the outside of his jeans, and then he is pulling down the neckline of her gown, freeing her breasts, rolling first one nipple and then the other between his thumb and forefinger, his mouth never leaving hers.

 

"Is this what you want, _your grace_?" His voice is rough, thick with desire, belying his bitter words. She moans, pushing his head down. " _Livvy_ ," Drake breathes, and he bends his mouth to her breasts in reverence, taking first one nipple in his mouth and then the other, nibbling and sucking, and she feels a surge of warmth spread through her whole body, arcing her body against the heat of his mouth, burying her hands in his dark hair. He pulls his mouth from her breasts, and begins kissing her again, the rough stubble of his jaw scraping against her mouth, teasing her, sucking her lower lip in with his teeth.

 

She tilts her head back as he begins to kiss her neck, and guides his hand between her legs. “ _Goddammit_ , Drake, fuck me.”

 

“Not yet, my lady.” His hand is drawing circles against the inside of her thigh now, and for a moment it's like all thought has flown from her head, she can't concentrate on anything except the sensation. “Tell me you want me – _only_ me.”

 

" _Drake, Drake_ ," she moans, fumbling with his belt, and he lets her: he lets her unzip him, and pull down his boxers, and slide her hand up and down his thick cock, a bead of wetness at the tip.   
  


And then he grabs her hands, pushing them away to brush the head of his cock against her panties, teasing her with maddeningly languid strokes, as though they have all the time in the world and there is only the here and now, _this moment._ Olivia feels a wet hot cascade of heat ripple through her body, from her lips all the way to her toes. “Tell me, _your grace_.”

 

“Drake,” she gasps out, her body arching into him. “I want you, _I want you_ , _now_ – _Now_ , Drake, fuck me _now_ – ”

 

Drake lifts her skirts and slides into her, and she wraps her legs around his waist as he bends his forehead to hers again, his tongue moving in and out of her mouth in the same rhythm that his cock moves in and out of her slit, and as she bites down on a scream, _Drake! Oh my god!_ he clamps a hand over her mouth, and then she feels the waves of pleasure crash through her body, one on top of another, ebbing away to leave her whole body languid and tingling. Her cheeks are wet, she is crying. His mouth crashes down on hers again, and he speeds up, groaning as his hips slam into hers, and he shudders as he comes, his teeth against her earlobe as he gasps out –

 

" _Riley_."

 

Olivia is out of the linen closet so fast that she doesn't care how it looks, she makes a beeline for the nearest powder room and flings herself onto the chaise lounge, shaking, overcome with emotion. She is crying without a sound, as she did when she was a child, the way a person cries when there is no one coming to comfort them, when no one cares for their delight nor their pain, for they are utterly alone in the world. Instead of being in a closet, clutching at her mother's dresses, she turns her head and, blind with sorrow, staggers into the restroom to lose the contents of her stomach in the porcelain bowl.

 

Time passes, she is not sure how long. Someone is holding her hair and humming softly. Olivia turns her head. It's Lady Hana Lee, who is looking at her in complete understanding, with such pity on her face that Olivia wants to push her away and run, but doesn't trust herself to leave the safety of the powder room right now. He can't see her tears. He _can't._ Worst of all, what if she sees Riley first? She'll tear her hair out, or punch her in that red-lipped mouth, or... or... But she can't bear for Liam to think lowly of her, she can't, she _can't_. Not anymore, not when she knows the truth about the Nevrakis house, not when she has to be more careful of her heart.

 

Her entire body clenches painfully, and she dry heaves into the bowl.

 

Hana strokes her forehead lightly. When Olivia sits up, wiping her mouth, she jerks back at the look on Olivia's face. On her mouth is a sad smile, which makes Olivia feel more wretched than malice ever could.

 

"I'm sorry, Olivia, I hope I'm not bothering you. Only you didn't show up for our game, and Drake said he'd seen you run this way. Riley offered to come, but... Drake said you'd want me instead?"

 

"How kind of him," Olivia sneers. She doesn't want to face him right now, for this is _her_ house, _her_ guests, _her_ party game. He should be the one to flee, tail between his legs. Yet she knows that if he apologizes, if he grovels on his knees, she'll slap him so hard — yes, she'll slap him so hard that the next time he'll think twice about ever, _ever_ calling her by another woman's name again. And if he doesn't — well, she's heard a rumor there are still fighting pits buried beneath the Nevrakis oubliette.

 

_What would Zenobia do?_

 

Why, she'd do what Olivia is doing now _._ Standing up straight, fixing her makeup, and sweeping into the study like a conquerer queen, her head held high and not a trace of her secrets written on her features. Beautiful and terrible by equal measure, a smile on her lips and a stiletto in the dark to those who dare cross her.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

_You're the fire and the flood / And I'll always feel you in my blood_ \- _Fire and the Flood_ , Vance Joy. **  
**

Riley is alone in the study when Drake enters, and she drops the crystal paperweight in her hand, startled. It goes rolling across the carpet, and Drake stops it with his toe, bending to pick it up and set it back on the windowsill. He is still reeling from his slip of the tongue in the linen closet, and now here she stands — " _Riley_ ," he sighs. In an instant she is across the room and in his arms, her cheek pressed to his chest. He presses his nose to her hair, inhaling the familiar scent and for a moment, all of his defenses come down.

 

"I'm sorry — " she starts to say, but Drake presses a finger to her lips. Who knows how much time they have before someone comes in? If they're lucky it will be Hana, she'd take Riley's secrets to the grave, but with Drake's luck it'll be Liam or Maxwell, and then it will be pistols at dawn and the scandal of the century. Cordonia teeters on the brink right now, and though some part of Drake knows that this is wrong, wrong, wrong, the other part, the reckless part, is willing to let the country burn, if only for a night in the arms of its queen.

 

"You belong to Cordonia now, Riley." It hurts to say it, to think of her in that cold, high palace, whisked away in another man's arms. Even if that man is his best friend, and the thought fills him with a curious mix of pride and despair. "You belong to Liam."

 

Never mind that he himself has just come from Olivia's arms — that fate was sealed long ago. Resolutely, he turns his mind from it, for it was another time, another life, and holding onto it is only prolonging the bittersweet agony of what can never be.

 

But _this_... Riley, her ear pressed to his heart, her arms around him... _this_ is real, _this_ is worth everything — the sleepless nights, the drunken benders, all the times Bastien has pulled him back from the edge of doing something stupid to prove his worth to her, like a chevalier of old. _This_ is where he's supposed to be, where he should have been all along. Half in heaven, half in hell.

 

(If she asked him to run from here right now, he would whisk her away in an instant, they would leave the country tonight.)

 

His best friend's fiancée. Soon to be the queen of all Cordonia. It should shake him down to his core, to think such thoughts. After all, he considers himself an honorable man. An honorable man would not be holding his best friend's wife-to-be the way that Drake is holding Riley now.

 

"Are you happy?" he asks, finally. "Because — I can bear this — but only if you're happy, Riley."

 

"I am happy," she whispers, but her fingertips brush against his, and she brings his hand to her heart. "I shouldn't have... Earlier, I mean. It's just.. _. I can't stop wanting you both_. If only there was some way..." she looks down, and then up at him from under her dark lashes. He would swear she is trembling, just.

 

"Old Cordonia will be shaken to its knees by your modern ways, your majesty," Drake teases solemnly, though his voice holds a ring of truth. "We shouldn't be meeting like this." Drake brushes her hair back from her forehead, laying a kiss at the crown of Riley's head. Reluctantly, he steps back from her, letting the space between them open like a chasm. "It's too dangerous. If someone saw us..."

 

"No one would suspect _you_ , Drake. You're Liam's best friend, and he _asked_ you to keep an eye on me." The look in her eye is one of earnest pleading, and something else, something he dares not hope for. "Please don't ever stop being my ... friend, or looking out for me."

 

 _Friend_. The word cuts deeper than it should, and Drake turns briefly away, running his hand over his face in one quick movement to brush the sudden burning from his eyes, like he's stared for too long at the sun.

 

"Drake? Have you seen — " Liam is at the door, and he's brought Maxwell and Hana with him, bearing bottles of hundred year old wine. "Oh, she's with you. Good." Liam kisses Riley like he hasn't seen her in a year, even though it hasn't even been an hour. "Ready to play?"

 

"Olivia is... she said she wasn't feeling well. I think she's in the powder room." Drake, unaware he has a distinct tell, runs a hand through his hair, and Riley purses her lips in thought.

 

"I'll go talk to her." Riley turns to Liam. "Do you think she'll — "

 

"No." Drake coughs. "Best if Hana goes."

 

Hana and Riley share a startled look, and Liam only looks pensive, studying Drake for a moment and then nodding as though he understands, when really, he knows nothing at all.

 

•••

 

"Never Have I Ever." Riley announces, clinking her glass with a fountain pen. "Does everyone understand the rules?" Her eyes meet Drake's, and a quick smile flashes across her lips, gone in an instant.

 

Maxwell is flirting with Olivia again, for all she looks _my lady high_ , so distant and cold. She has a distinct love bite on her throat he doesn't remember leaving, was he so far gone then? Drake rolls his tumbler in his palm, taking a sip of whiskey as he watches her.

 

Riley may be his heaven and his hell, but Olivia Nevrakis will one day drive him to madness.

 

(If Drake Walker is certain of anything in his twenty-six years, it's this.)

 

All the more reason he should let her go — just look at what happened the last time. There was no Riley then, but instead the realities of courtly life that drove the final nail in the coffin of their affair. _Noble. Commoner. She's a Nevrakis of Lythikos, Walker, and you are nothing but a common peasant, dirt under his nails and the reek of the stables about him. If it's coin you're after, that can be arranged..._

 

He is the odd man out tonight, leaning against the wall while the others lounge on the sofas, a glass of whiskey that costs more than his life in his hand. He will always be the king's most trusted ally, for all his common blood. He has Liam's back, implicitly. It's not their fault they both love the same woman — how could she help it, being what she is?

 

Olivia passes by him with the bottle of McLellyn, she has become someone he doesn't recognize, icy and regal, with a bright smile on her face that does not reach her eyes. She takes his wrist for an instant, as though she has forgotten herself; and her skirts whisper of silk sheets and sin.

 

"Lady Nevrakis," he says with a curt nod, for two can play this masquerade. The difference is, this time no one will get hurt. They both knew what the rules were when they started the affair, and seven years on, the rules are still the same.

 

(Nothing has changed, except everything.)

 

He grasps her wrist, and for a moment the world falls away, the only truth the secrets that lie behind the sudden flare of emotion in her green eyes.

 

"Drake?" Riley clears her throat. "You go first."

 

"It's _my_ house, _my_ whiskey. _I'll_ go first," Olivia interrupts loudly, pulling her wrist from his hand as though she's been burnt. "Never Have I Ever ...screamed the wrong name in bed."

 

Color suffuses Maxwell's cheeks. "Guilty!" He raises his glass. "Well, you know..."

 

Olivia looks scandalized as everyone except her — and Liam, of course, kings have to set the example — raises their glass to drink.

 

"Oh, is this the game we're going to play?" The corner of Riley's mouth turns up in a wicked smile. "Never Have I Ever thought about... being in bed with... someone in this room." She looks straight at Drake, then her gaze flicks back to Liam, who drapes an arm over her shoulder and whispers something in her ear which causes her to turn scarlet. They all drink again, including Olivia, who is gazing out the window at some far off point he cannot see. Her arms are wrapped around her midsection, and she looks so brittle, as though the wrong word will shatter her into a thousand pieces.

 

Drake raises his glass, and he looks at Olivia when he speaks. "Never have I ever, apologized when I didn't mean it." He touches the small of her back, as though they are alone in the room, and leans in to whisper, "That means I'm sorry, your grace. I'm just a simple man, standing before a duchess, asking her to forgive him."

 

She leans into his palm, just enough for him to feel how she relaxes against him, gifting him once again with her trust. He doesn't deserve this, and he knows it, but he can't stop wanting to make things right with her, even if their fate is already sealed. (It was sealed a long time ago, and prolonging it is only marking time until the inevitable.)

 

From across the room, Riley has narrowed her eyes, and is glaring daggers at Olivia behind Drake's back. When Drake turns back to the group, however, Riley is all curved lips and white teeth. She pats the spot next to her.

 

"Come sit near me, Drake."

 

Liam raises his head from the sofa and grins, squeezing Riley's shoulder. "You'd best do as my lady commands, Drake, she's a terror when she's displeased."

 

Drake drops his hand, and Olivia pretends as though nothing has happened, but when she looks at him there is the tiniest hint of pleasure in her eyes. The jolt of warmth that courses through him is unexpected, and he pushes it away, crossing the study to sit beside Riley, who smiles thinly, clinking her glass against his.

 

"I hope that 'never have I ever' was for me," she whispers against his ear, her lips barely moving. "Because I don't know what to think when I see you touching Olivia."

 

 _She's jealous_. Drake's pleasure at this confidence makes his ego swell. "Liam, are you going to play?" he asks, and Liam smiles into his drink, stroking Riley's back with one hand.

 

"Never have I ever been in an open relationship," Liam says. Riley touches his knee, and the two of them share a private smile. Drake's head is spinning. Does this mean what he thinks it does?

 

"Well, the night is still young," Maxwell says, throwing back his drink. "Joking, joking!" He holds his hands up, grinning. "Who would've thought a Beaumont would have more drunken escapades than anyone else in the room?" He raises his glass to Hana. "Never have I ever... Regretted a one night stand."

 

"But maybe _they_ regretted having a one night stand with _you_ , Beaumont," Drake needles him.

 

"I've never had any complaints," Maxwell says, wiggling his brows at Olivia. "I've been told I'm _very_ talented!"

 

"He isn't modest, is he?" Olivia directs this at Riley, who snorts back a giggle.

 

"Every court needs a jester," she says simply. "Your turn, Hana."

 

"Never Have I Ever gone skinny-dipping!" Hana claps a hand over her mouth and laughs, blushing.

 

"Oh my god... That's so perfect! Let's do it!" Riley claps her hands together, entranced. Indeed, she'll shake up Old Cordonia. "Olivia, how is the lake this time of year?"

 

"So cold it'll freeze your limbs off," Olivia says neatly. "But you know, we do have a secret hot spring, Hana."

 

" _Really_?" Riley clasps her hands, squealing in delight. "Ohmygod, can we go in?"

 

"Of course," Olivia inclines her head, gracious to the last tonight. "Come with me."

 

•••

 

Drake, Liam and Maxwell find themselves in the antechamber first. The spring is hidden in the cavernous depths of the older part of the castle, but no less modern for all that. Copper shower heads line one of the walls, with stone benches and hooks on the other, and the three of them casually shuck their towels and rinse off under the cool water before stepping into the main room.

 

Here, a deep rock pool awaits, the air thick with steam, lit only by primitive torches attached to the wall.

 

"I hope the girls show soon," Maxwell says after they have all sunk to their necks in the hot pool. "I mean, I love you guys and all, but you're not really my type." He winks, treading water. "I'm starting to get a thing for redheads, if you know what I mean."

 

"She'll eat you alive, Beaumont," Liam responds with unexpected verve.

 

"Good," Maxwell says, with a smirk that makes Drake want to strangle him. "I like it when a woman takes me in hand."

 

"Why, isn't _this_ cozy." Olivia appears as though by magic, trailed by Riley and Hana. "I don't know, ladies, do we want to join them? Or should we just...make them leave and enjoy the waters in peace without them?"

 

"I think I'll be fine, Olivia, but we should let Hana choose. Hana?" Riley winks across the water at Liam, who sits up, grinning.

 

"All right," Hana says. "But please close your eyes!"

 

"I'll go with you, Hana," Riley says, and Drake looks down at his reflection until he is quite sure they are both in the pool. Liam doesn't need to catch Drake devouring his would-be queen with his eyes.

 

He hears a tentative gasp as Olivia walks into the water, and his head whips around. She isn't wearing her robe, or anything at all. Drake slaps a hand over Maxwell's eyes, but Maxwell shakes his head, pulling away from Drake.

 

"'She walks in Beauty,'" Maxwell quotes aloud, and Olivia glides into the pool, a sultry smile on her crimson lips. Drake thinks, suddenly, of her mouth on his in the linen closet, her hand cupping his balls. His cock stands to attention at once, and Drake sits lower in the water, trying to ignore the sudden rush of tactile memories that flow through his head, threatening to drown him.

 

The way her body arched into his mouth, her hands gripping his head as she sobbed his name, the walls of her core pulsing around his cock as he slid in and out of her, her head thrown back, his teeth against her lower lip.

 

 _Fuck._ He shakes his head to clear it, but the scent of her perfume as it wafts up from the steamy water is like an opiate. He yearns to slide his hand between the trembling thighs, to lick the bud of her clit and to watch as she opens for him like the dewy petals of a rose turning towards the sun.

 

But Fate is rarely kind. For when Maxwell greets her with a charming smile, Drake cannot help but glare at him as he moves to her side in the pool.

 

"My lady fair," Maxwell is saying, his voice deep and husky. "Thank you for showing this to us. I never knew Chateaux Nevrakis had hot springs." If her scent isn't affecting him, Drake thinks, then Maxwell must be a monk.

 

"A well-guarded family secret," Olivia demurs, raising her head to look at her fellow noble from under her lashes. Maxwell's pupils expand as he inhales sharply, and Drake clenches his fists under the water. She isn't playing by the rules. Has she forgotten, or have they changed without his knowledge? Perhaps it's best if this thing between them, whatever it is, dies a natural death.

 

"House Beaumont has family secrets too." Maxwell cannot seem to stop oversharing. Drake can't imagine why. You don't lay all your cards out on the table with other nobles, not even ones with lips swollen from stolen kisses.

 

"Not the Walkers," Drake says. "I'm an open book."

 

Olivia's gaze rakes over him from head to waist, but he feels as though she's peeled back his earthly flesh to look deep inside his soul. "Indeed. I never would have guessed." She twirls a lock of hair around one finger, a secret smile on her lips. "This conversation is terribly boring. I'm afraid my tolerance for Lady Hana's activity has ceased. Hana, dear," Olivia coos, and her breasts brush Drake's chest as she slips past him in the water, the round pebbles of her nipples eliciting a half groan from him, bit suddenly back. "I have to bid you all adieu early, I'm afraid I'm about to turn into a pumpkin." She gives a theatrical yawn. "I have so many preparations to finalize before tomorrow night, and so little time."

 

"Oh, it's all right, Olivia," Hana says with a self-deprecating laugh. "Shouldn't you ask leave of Liam though, not me?"

 

"Your majesty," Olivia says to Liam, who flicks water at her lightly. She sputters, but doesn't fall for the bait.

 

"I wouldn't want my hostess to feel she had to overexert herself. Go on, Olivia. I think we've put enough pressure on you for one night."

 

Olivia nods, and then she rises from the water like Venus from the sea, and Drake makes a sudden movement like he's about to follow her, but —

 

"Oh, Drake." Riley's fingers lightly sweep across his shoulder and up the nape of his neck, the sensation jarring him not unpleasantly. Her thumb presses against the base of his neck and he has to call on every reserve he has to stay utterly calm. "I was just telling Liam that you're helping with the last minute details of the ball. Do tell," she purrs. “Will there be fireworks?”

 

 


	7. chapter seven

**Chapter Seven  
**

_Someday when you leave me / I bet these memories / Follow you around – Wildest Dreams,_ Taylor Swift.

 

 

"This is the last place I ever thought I'd find _you_ , Livvy." Olivia shivers at Drake's voice in her ear, awareness of his presence making goosebumps break out along the bare skin of her arms. His hands rest lightly on her hips as he whispers in her ear. "Nightcap?" Somehow it is both request and invitation.

 

"Yes, I was having one." She sets the mug of mulled cider down, turning around slowly. It is no easy task to breathe normally, savoring the feel of his breath on her neck, and she strokes a finger down his damp shirt, moulded to every line of his torso. "Looks like _you_ couldn't wait. Company not... _exciting_ enough for you?"

 

"You could say that." Drake's dark hair is still damp, and his five o' clock shadow is more pronounced at a quarter to midnight. "You should be in bed, your grace." His mouth dips to her neck, nuzzling against her soft skin with his stubble. "Lying in those silken sheets, tossing and turning, unable to sleep." His breath quickens as he pulls the strap of her camisole down one shoulder, pressing another kiss to the freckles there, the ones she's always hated, his thumb stroking the line of her shoulder blade. "Thinking of me."

 

"Oh?" Olivia smiles brazenly up at him, and pulls his shirt out of his jeans to splay her hand against the warm skin of his abdomen, tracing her forefinger up and down the dark line of hair that leads beyond the waistband of his jeans. "I'm not wearing any clothes in this bed, I suppose."

 

"No, you're wearing this...flimsy thing." Drake gives the bottom edge of her red camisole a quick tug, picking her up and settling her firmly on the bar. "And no panties." His hands slide up her thighs, pulling her closer to him as he grips her bottom firmly with both hands through the silky fabric.

 

"Mmm," Olivia says, raising a brow. She sips her cider, making a show of licking every droplet from her lips. "I know what you're doing, Walker. You want a nightcap?" Her voice drops to a luscious purr, rolling the words around in her mouth. "I think you had better put your money where your mouth is, and show me _exactly_ what you mean... That is, if you want to make up to me for earlier." She snaps the elastic of his boxers against his skin. "Or else I'm afraid you'll never see another bottle of whiskey in Lythikos again."

 

" _Goddammit_. What the hell kind of a game are you playing at?" He groans as she slips her fingers in his belt loops, pulling her hips flush against his.

 

And then, in the span of a single second, Drake's mouth is crashing down on hers, and she wraps her legs around his waist, hand splayed against his chest, as his tongue delves, hot and wet, into her open mouth.

 

" _Drake_ ," Olivia gasps, coming up for air, and he is bracing his arms on the edge of the bar, panting, his hair tousled from her hands, his eyes dark with craving. " _I want you,_ " she breathes, and in his eyes is a sudden look of such longing that she cannot remember how to breathe.

 

"You want... this _commoner_? This simple man?" His voice is rough, unsteady. "Are you sure? Because I can't make any promises, your grace."

 

A shiver travels down her spine at those words. _"_ I don't care what happens tomorrow," she says, even though it's a lie. _Let me die in my bed, let the fire take me, I don't care as long as it means I'm with you._ "I want you, only you."

 

"Just making sure we're on the same page." Drake smiles lazily, his eyes roaming up and down her body. "Besides, I think you like torturing me too much, your grace." He pushes the other camisole strap down her shoulder, and frees her breasts, rubbing his thumb over her exposed nipples. "Next time we go in that hot spring, it had better be only the two of us."

 

"What, you don't like being there with Maxwell?" Olivia teases, drawing in a sharp breath as he pinches one of her nipples. Heat is rippling through her lower belly, and she gasps, squirming, as Drake's hot mouth fastens on a nipple, his hands gripping her hips as he rocks slowly against her. "Oh my god, _Drake_..."

 

"He wanted you as badly as I want you right now," Drake rasps, tilting her chin up with one finger. His gaze upon her is fierce, unyielding, like a hawk she saw once as a girl, hunting in the snowy mountains. "Olivia, if you're looking for..." he swallows, a muscle working in his jaw. "You know I can't offer you anything."

 

"Stupid man," she chokes out, guiding his hand to the apex of her thighs. "We're in Lythikos, not at court. I want _you,_ not piles of money and an old name. Why is it so hard to understand?"

 

But she knows why. And he knows that she knows, because an ironic smile teases the corner of his mouth. "Fine, if that's the way you want to play the game." He brushes his thumb over her lower lip.

 

 _Nothing changes. Everything changes_.

 

Drake leans his forehead against hers, staring into her eyes as he traces his fingers back and forth across the lace inset of her knickers with firm, lingering strokes. She starts to pull them off and Drake grasps her hands firmly, stroking her palms with his thumbs. "Not yet, your grace," he says. "Let me show you how very much I..." he kisses her again, cupping her face in his hands, and when they pull apart, his eyes are dark with lust. "You're playing with fire tonight, my lady."

 

He lifts her up and carries her to a chair, kneeling before her. He lingers on her mouth, sucking her lower lip between his teeth and nibbling it, his hands pinning hers to the arms of the chair. He lavishes attention on her nipples, biting and sucking, until she writhes beneath him, beseeching -- _begging_ \-- for release, her whole body humming with desire. " _Now_ , Drake," she pants. "Please, you're torturing me!"

 

"I thought you liked games," he says with a chuckle, and then with one swift motion he pulls her pajama bottoms off and spreads her thighs apart, boneless under his firm touch. He presses his face between her thighs, inhaling with an aching gasp. "I want to taste you right now. _Fuck_ , you smell so good." The tip of Drake's tongue begins to flick up and down the lacy fabric, and Olivia whimpers, gripping his hair in her hands. Drake laces his fingers in hers, pulling her body to his mouth. "I could eat you out all night." His voice drops several octaves, nearly a growl.

 

"Drake – " Whatever she was going to say has flown from her head. There is only this, there is only now, his breath on her thighs, his tongue tormenting her. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of her lacy panties, pulling them down. Then his tongue is lapping at the swollen bud of her clit, alternating with thrusts of his tongue into her core. He begins to pump his fingers in and out of the slippery folds, and she opens to him with a guttural cry, riding his tongue and his fingers as time slows, and dissolves, stars exploding in front of her eyes.

 

"Livvy..." he croons, bringing her back down to earth. Her ears are still ringing and time has become fuzzy, slow. He pulls her onto his lap, and his arms wrap firmly around her, supporting her. He presses a kiss onto her shoulder, his fingertips ghosting lightly over the curve of her hip. "How was that for a nightcap?" he teases, voice warm.

 

" _You_ , Mr Walker..." but Olivia doesn't finish the thought. She suddenly tenses, listening, her whole body on alert. "I thought I heard something."

 

Drake cocks his head, listening too. "The only thing I want to hear..." he says in a husky voice, one that brooks no argument, "...is you, screaming my name. That is, when you're ready."

 

"I think... I think we should go to my room now." Olivia is rewarded with Drake's mouth on hers again, and his groan of acquiescence.

 

* * *

 

 

They are silent as they walk softly down the darkened corridors to her chambers, and in the moonlight, they disrobe, their hastily rearranged clothing once again crumpled and forgotten on the floor. Drake takes a step forward and then Olivia's hands are buried in his hair, his mouth trailing down her neck. She pushes him towards the bed, his cock rigid, his eyes dark with desire as she straddles him, sinking atop him with a moan, his rough hands cupping her bottom.

 

" _I_ know what _you_ like," Olivia says with a smile, trailing one finger down his chest. He groans as they begin to move in tandem, his thumb swirling in firm circles on the nub of her clit.

 

" _Livvy_ ," he groans, and in one swift movement, rolls over on top of her, her legs around his waist. Drake thrusts into her, slowly at first, then faster and faster, his face pressed against her neck, their bodies slick with sweat. The headboard of the bed is thumping against the wall, and Olivia scores his back with her nails as she feels a cascade of heat begin to wash over her, matching his hips rhythm for rhythm, and she screams his name, not caring if it brings the whole house down on top of them, not caring who hears, not caring about anything except the intense sensation that pulses through her body until she is completely shattered by it.

 

Sticky and satiated, they collapse together in the tangled sheets. Drake lifts himself on his elbows, stroking her cheek with one finger as he smiles at her, almost drunkenly. "You were a goddess tonight," he whispers, breathing ragged. "Don't let that go to your head, Lady Nevrakis." He presses a kiss to the space between her breasts, nuzzling her there, and then he rolls over, his arms around her, one leg swung over her hips. Their hands are laced together, and she can feel the rise and fall of his chest on her back as he breathes, drifting into sleep.

 

Part of her wants to talk about what has been happening between them, the other part wants to let the world fall away, and let only this moment exist. She is often impulsive, she knows it is one of the reasons she wasn't picked to be queen, and she also knows that in court, having all your moves planned in advance is an advantage. She's never been that kind of person. She has been known to throw caution to the wind, to live on the edge of the precipice, never mind what the court thinks.

 

But in Lythikos, they are not at court. They exist out of step with the real world, and every deed and thought only means as much as his lips on hers, and his body moving in and out of hers in the oldest rhythm in the world -- the only rhythm. Here, they belong to the night, and to each other.

 

Tomorrow the wolves will be at the castle gates, and she will have to be on her guard at all times. It's exhausting. Olivia rolls over to face him, and her stomach drops at the sudden, unguarded look of tenderness in his eyes. It is there and then it is gone, and he studies her face, lifting her chin with one finger.

 

"What's wrong? Ah, don't cry, Ollie," he says, brushing one thumb across her cheeks. He presses his forehead to hers, and then his mouth is on hers again, this time with just the right mixture of gentleness and heat. When he pulls away, they are both panting. "Do you remember when..." he runs a hand over his chin, and a dark cloud passes behind his eyes. "Never mind."

 

She takes his hand in hers, pressing it to her cheek, and whispers back, "I remember _everything_."

 

Long summer nights, and the singing of the cicadas, Drake's fingers laced with hers as his mouth brought her to an excruciatingly slow, sweet, body-melting orgasm. The first time he kissed her, against the stable door, in the middle of an argument – both of them suddenly brought to their knees by it, swept away by desire and passion, consumed and devoured and utterly burnt to a cinder. After that summer, and the aftermath, she'd sworn a vow to the graves of her dead parents, _n_ _ever again_. She cannot afford to open up like that again. A second time will destroy her.

 

Drake is watching her face, and he tweaks her nose. "This doesn't mean anything," he says softly. "We're just two kids, having fun."

 

Of course. _Of course_. So why then, does she feel like the bottom has dropped out from under her world, and that her heart is encased in a fine layer of ice?

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

_And I met someone and I swear I'm in love // But I'm two blocks away and you're just like a drug_ \-- 11 Blocks, Wrabel.

 

 

 

Drake sits down at the table with a plateful of fried potatoes and eggs, and a chaser of coffee, black. He'd woken up alone in bed, with only the fleeting scent of musky sweetness on the sheets hinting that he'd spent the night with Olivia in his arms.

 

 _Olivia_. Just the thought of her red hair spread across the pillows, her legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into her the night before produces an almost visceral reaction in his system, and it takes all the self-control he has not to hunt her down on chateau grounds and carry her back to bed for round two, round three, all damn day long.

 

But that's not going to happen.

 

Drake's not the kind of man to love and leave a woman, but this thing, whatever it is... If he's being honest with himself, he knows it isn't going to work. Maybe it's just his insecurity talking, but in the cold light of day, he has nothing to offer her, and they both know that she deserves better. Maybe if they'd met somewhere else, maybe if it was another time, maybe if they didn't already have all this past between them.

 

_Let's say all the things we never said._

 

When he'd gone off to Hartfield College in the States and left Cordonia – and Olivia – behind, he'd thought he was doing the right thing. Even though he'd never made her any outright promises, he hadn't _lied_ either – fuck, he'd been just a kid. And Olivia certainly hadn't made an effort to stay in touch either – not that he'd _expected_ it, not for long, anyway. She wouldn't have fit into his university life, just as he wouldn't fit into a whirlwind of endless court parties and displays of ostentatious wealth.

 

But when he _did_ come back, after the assassination attempt, he'd expected... Something. Not what he got. She'd been so cold, so cruel, that even Liam had taken her to task for it. If anything, that made it worse.

 

So he'd turned his back on her, and whatever he'd once hoped for, once felt, had turned to bitterness in his veins. Whatever this thing is, whatever they're doing, in the end, it's just the closure they never got the first time around. This time he'll be the one to break it off, before...

 

Drake swallows. He doesn't want to look down that road too hard, or too long. He's a grown man now, not a boy, not there to be used and tossed aside when a noble lady is finished with him. He won't let himself make that kind of mistake again. All he knows is that this thing is impossible... and yet. Something about it still makes him want to hold fast, to never let her go.

 

"Drake!" Riley plops down in the seat next to him, running her hand through his hair affectionately. "You're up, finally!" She is glowing this morning, and he feels greedy for her smiles – is it selfish to want them just for himself? When she smiles, Riley makes him feel like they could be anywhere but here, that the whole world belongs to the two of them alone. Fuck, he shouldn't be feeling so guilty about all of this. What he has with Olivia, that's just a fling – and his feelings for Riley are real, right? He hates that he even has to think about this, but the past few months – hell, the past few _days_ – have thrown his normally controlled emotions into a tailspin.

 

Riley traces the line of his jaw with her finger. "You're looking rough around the edges this morning, Drake. I like this unshaven look on you. It's incredibly sexy." She lowers her voice. "Just make sure you shave for the ball, all right?" Riley catches his chin in her hand. "Really, I mean it, Drake. You may look ruggedly handsome, but that doesn't mean you get a pass."

 

He digs his fork into his eggs. He's flattered, but trying not to show it. "Look at you, Miss Merry Fucking Sunshine. What did I do to deserve this dubious honor?"

 

Riley bats him lightly on the arm. "I'm helping you escape, and this is how you thank me? With lightly veiled sarcasm?" She helps herself to a piece of bacon from his plate. "Don't look at me like that, Drake. I'm your knight in shining armor today!"

 

"Isn't that my line?" Drake pulls the plate away before Riley can steal another strip of bacon. "Don't you _want_ to be roped into party planning? I thought that was your thing, you know, after the whole Beaumont Ball."

 

Riley pretends to get offended, crossing her arms and frowning. She can't hold the pretense for long, though. "Shut up, you." She leans in on her elbows, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. Strands of lavender hair brush his arm, distracting him. "So? Do you want to come? _Everyone_ will be there."

 

Drake leans back, taking a sip of coffee. He's too sober for this. Everyone?

 

_(I remember everything.)_

 

"I'm going to have to come whether I want to or not, is that what you're saying, Houdini?" Instead of answering him directly, Riley traces a finger up and down the inside of his arm, and he shifts, turning his body towards hers, craving her touch. He doesn't want to lose a second of this, not when he's not sure how many more in-between moments he will have with her. Is it because these moments are forbidden that makes them all the more precious between the two of them? Her leg nudges his under the table, she is grinning impishly. Despite himself, he smiles, shaking his head.

 

"That's right, Mr Walker." She sticks out her bottom lip in a mock-pout. "Saying no isn't an option, because we're all going and that's final. Olivia has money to burn and all the decorators and caterers she could ever need. So we're free until the court starts arriving tonight." Riley leans in, her voice dropping just an octave, husky and beckoning. "There will be whiskey."

 

But will there be Olivia?

 

* * *

 

 

As it turns out, no. Drake doesn't know whether what he's feeling is relief or irritation, so he pushes the feeling away. It surprises him, how much he wanted her to come, for though he knows their time in Lythikos is coming to its natural end, at the same time he feels a strangely protective of it. But he pushes that away too, because nothing good will come of dwelling on it.

 

The picnic is only Drake, Hana, Riley and Liam. When pressed, Riley finally admits that she left Maxwell with Olivia, and Drake can't say anything without tipping his hand, so in the end he stews and says nothing. But at least there's one thing to enjoy at the picnic, and that's the bottle of expensive whiskey he's sure Riley liberated from Olivia's wine cellar. He and Liam sit on the edge of the cliff, looking out across the rolling hills of Lythikos, all the way to the wine-dark sea.

 

"Riley asked Olivia to be one of her ladies," Liam says after a time, sipping his drink. The girls are some distance off, braiding an endless chain of daisies, their giggles carried on the wind. "What do you think?"

 

"Surround yourself with people you trust, right?" Drake answers without really answering. How much longer can they all keep up this charade? That's the real question.

 

* * *

 

 

When the sun sets, all the lights strung around the chateau turn on, and the real party begins. As promised, the music is loud, the company fashionable, and the drinks are flowing like a goddamned fucking river. He even thinks he saw a groom leading two horses past the ballroom, but he can't be completely sure.

 

Drake is in his gray suit, not by choice, but by request. He is squiring Riley around the party, ordered to keep her under guard without her knowing it, and to keep her entertained. This means dancing, this means drinking, this means never leaving her side for an instant.

 

But when he sees Olivia, all bets are off. She's in a fire engine red dress, backless and slit up the side, guaranteed to draw male attention her way, and draw attention it does, with every sultry step she takes. She is shining tonight, a star among stars, but somehow still the brightest of all the heavenly bodies. He shouldn't be so surprised that Maxwell and Tariq are sneaking heated glances towards her, that Rashad hasn't left her side all night.

 

He just didn't expect to feel so jealous, that's all.

 

If he wasn't on Riley detail, he's sure he could get Olivia alone. There are plenty of dark corners he could easily pull her into, plenty of heavy curtains for the two of them to hide behind and whisper in the dark, where no one else can see how his hands linger for a little too long on her waist, how her smiles are too warm, how their laughter is low and meant only for each other.

 

"You're awfully distracted tonight," Riley is saying as he waltzes her around the ballroom. Her glittering dark blue skirts fan out around her, and he remembers another night, when she ate s'mores with her fingers and kissed him on the grounds of Applewood Manor. Before she won the court's favor back, before Liam made good on his promise to make her his queen. And Drake... "Ow, Drake, you just stepped on my foot! What's wrong?"

 

What's fucking wrong? What's wrong is the fact that he's just seen a drunk Lord Neville put his hand on Olivia's ass, groping her sloppily. Usually this is the point in which Olivia would slap a man and leave him stranded on the dance floor, but Drake sees Olivia's strained smile, and sees how Regina and Constantine are watching this play out from across the room, and a dark suspicion roils in his gut.

 

"I'll be right back." Drake deposits Riley with Maxwell and Hana, who are playing some sort of weird card game called "Against Humanity" with Penelope, Tariq, and Kiara, much to the horror of the stuffy old nobles around them.

 

"Drake!" Riley tugs on his sleeve and she leans in, her lips against his ear. "Don't be too long," is all she says. Her eyes sparkle, but Drake only has eyes for one woman right now.

 

He skirts around the ballroom, trying to look nonchalant, but when Lord Neville leers at Olivia, manhandling her again, a red film descends down in front of Drake's eyes. The only thing that stops him from storming onto the dance floor and slamming his fist into that smug bastard's face is Bastien's hand on his shoulder.

 

"Steady there, Walker," Bastien says, studiously casual. His grip is strong though, and Drake knows he won't shake him off without drawing unwanted attention to the two of them. "Let Lady Olivia or Prince Liam handle this. If you assault a noble, it won't matter if you're Liam's best friend or not – neither the tabloids or the court will care. And they'll throw her to the wolves." His hand squeezes Drake's shoulder again, his voice dropping below the hum of the crowd. "Any fool can see what's going on here. Do you think you're the first commoner to lose his head over a noblewoman?"

 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Drake growls. Lose his head? Is Bastien drunk? Olivia has caught his eye from across the room, and she's worrying her lower lip between her teeth, the way she does when she's feeling unsure. He takes a step forward, and Bastien stops him again. "I haven't – I don't fall for noblewomen!"

 

"You may see it that way, but the rest of the court won't. Do you really want Lady Olivia's reputation destroyed because you couldn't control your temper?" Bastien pulls Drake back. "Son, I'm not your father, but you of all people have to know how it looks."

 

Drake's fists are clenched at his sides and it takes every ounce of self control he has to back away. "No, you're not my father." But Drake doesn't know if his father wouldn't have advised the same thing. "I'll find that fucking bastard when he's alone. He won't know what hit him."

 

He can't tell if Bastien agrees or not, the man's a fucking statue. "Look, the Prince has cut in." Bastien nods at the dance floor. "See? Crisis averted."

 

Liam spins Olivia to the side of the ballroom, and deposits her on a chair during a lull in the music. He bows with a smile, and then makes a beeline for Riley, who is holding court amongst the laughter of their friends at the card table. Drake takes a step towards Olivia, but Bastien just won't give up.

 

"Wait, Drake," Bastien says. "Aren't you supposed to be on Riley Duty tonight?" Leave it to a King's Guard to make it sound like an official fucking assignment.

 

Drake glowers at him, but his ill-tempered scowl doesn't faze Bastien in the least. "I am."

 

"Then you'd better get back to work. _I'll_ check on Lady Nevrakis." Bastien slaps him firmly on the back. "Go on, now. And for the love of Cordonia... Learn to be more circumspect."

 

When Drake returns to the card table, Riley has a towering stack of cards before her, and everyone is laughing, even Liam. When Liam sees Drake, his shoulders fall in relief, and he loops an arm around Drake's neck, clasping him by the collar. "I thought you were keeping an eye on her for me," Liam says in a quiet, but steely tone. "Where the hell did you go?"

 

Drake coughs. He can see Bastien bowing to Olivia on the other side of the room. "There was something... I thought... Never mind, it's taken care of now."

 

But is it?

 

* * *

 

 

"Lady Olivia?"

 

Olivia turns her head. Her feet are throbbing from the too-small sequined heels she's been forcing her feet into all night, and truth to be told she's relieved to take a break. She recognizes Leo's former bodyguard, Bastien, a member of the King's Guard, standing a respectable distance from her. He bows.

 

"Might I give you a piece of advice, your grace?"

 

Olivia feels her blood burn. Does he have to sound so damn condescending? She opens her mouth to retort something nasty, and then her eyes go to Drake across the room. He's talking to Liam, but the scowl he has trained on Lord Neville is one of murder.

 

"That damned fool," Bastien says, looking at Drake, and winces. "I warned him."

 

"Warned him about what?" Olivia slips her shoes off discreetly under her skirts, biting back a groan. _The things we do for beauty_. They were her mother's shoes, a half-size too small, and pinch terribly in the toes. She should have know better than to quite literally try to fit into her mother's shoes.

 

Bastien turns back to her and moves closer, leaning against the wall so he can observe the crowded ballroom and talk to her at the same time without garnering suspicion.

 

"Your grace, I hope you don't find this too forward of me, but you're a grown woman and I'd like to think I can be frank with you."

 

"You can be frank, Bastien," Olivia says, shooting him an appraising glance. "I'm not some addlepated twit, a babe in the woods, or an indiscreet lush." She holds up three fingers, nodding at Penelope, Hana and Adelaide in turn and smirking.

 

"Yes, your grace, but you're known for your fiery temper." When she opens her mouth to retort, Bastien holds up a hand. "Let me say my piece, Lady Nevrakis. Then you may bite my head off as you will."

 

That's fair. Olivia watches the dancers, the music has changed from the Cordonian waltz to a faster rhythm, not the thumping house beat that Maxwell adores, but the sultry tango. The beat has turned up, and inhibitions are about to go down. She supposes she should care for the annoyed looks of the older nobility, but tonight she does not. If it were a ball in her own honor, she might, but from the look on Riley and Liam's faces, the surprise is a pleasant one. And that's whose opinion matters. "Go on," she says, waiting for what, she has no idea. But she sure as hell isn't expecting the words that come out of his mouth next.

 

"Stay away from Drake, your grace."

 

"Wha - what?" Olivia's jaw drops. " _Excuse_ me?"

 

"It's only a matter of time before the two of you destroy one another again. I was there last time, don't forget. I saw what was happening, and I didn't think it was my place to interfere, but – "

 

"That's because it _isn't_ your place!" Olivia snaps, drawing an incensed breath. "You – you don't know what you're talking about!"

 

Bastien holds up his hands in supplication. "I know what I see with my own eyes. I see a young man, practically my nephew, about to make the same mistakes all over again. He can't run away this time, his honor won't let him leave Liam to the wolves. So I ask _you_ to do the honorable thing, noble lady that you are, and let him go now, before his love for you denies him any chance at happiness, any chance to live a normal life." Bastien looks at her long and hard, then shakes his head, as though he doesn't like what he sees. "You'll doom the both of you to a life lived in shadows, full of stolen moments, dogged by gossip and whispers until you marry, and maybe even after. Unless you toss him aside now, neither of you will ever have a chance." Bastien's tone has turned to one of bitter experience.

 

She is done with this conversation. Done, done, done. But he won't let her go. He's looking at her with such a strange mix of sadness and understanding, that Olivia knows Bastien is half talking of himself. "Who was she?" she asks, impulsively, and instantly regrets it. Bastien's expression closes down, but he can't help but let his gaze drift across the ballroom to where a very drunk Duchess of Fydelia is flirting with a beet red Maxwell Beaumont. "Lady _Adelaide_?" she gasps.

 

"I've said enough," Bastien is curt, but polite. He bows to her again. "Please think about what I've said, your grace. A life full of stolen moments is no life at all." Then he is gone, melted back into the shadows.

 

 _A life full of stolen moments_. Olivia's eyes find Drake's across the room. He is dancing with Riley in one hand and a whiskey glass in the other, and he raises his whiskey glass to her in mock salute. Fuck Bastien. Olivia crosses the dance floor, stockinged feet whispering across the parquet floor, red satin pumps abandoned.

 

"May I cut in?"

 

Drake's pupils expand when she taps Riley on the shoulder, and the smoldering look he gives her should incinerate her where she stands. Riley just looks puzzled, but she's polite about it at least, she leaves Drake to Olivia and rushes off to rescue Maxwell from Adelaide's clutches.

 

"Lady Nevrakis," Drake says with a nod, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her close. She sucks in a breath at the sensation his touch awakens in her. The current that sizzles between them is electric. "You look stunning tonight."

 

"You're not half bad yourself, Mr Walker," she teases. His eyes devour her, and she shivers in forbidden delight. She wonders if whatever this is really is so obvious. Damn that Bastien, making her paranoid. "You clean up good, but... Don't you know how much I love the way your stubble feels on... me?"

 

Drake hisses, pulling her closer, and she can feel every inch of his hard length pressed up against her. "You're killing me, Livvy."

 

"Dying in my arms is the best thing that could happen to you, Walker," she whispers. "It's almost midnight, and you know what that means."

 

He doesn't say anything, he doesn't need to. It's all in his eyes when he looks down at her, and then the dance comes to an end. They exhale together, his fingers lingering at the small of her back a shade too long before they step apart. "I'll save you the best spot."

 

"I don't want to watch the fireworks," Olivia stands on tiptoe, placing her hands on his chest to whisper in his ear, and she feels his muscles tense at her touch like a coiled spring. Her words are more command than request, and Drake's pupils kindle with a sudden intense, smoldering heat. "I want to _make_ them."

 

* * *

 

 

**a/n: I have Drake going to Hartfield College around the same time as Mark & Dani from #LH, because it's the Choices Universe. I also HC him to be around 26, meaning I retconned the first story so they hooked up when she was 17 and he was 18, making the summer he worked at the royal stables the summer before he went to college. It will figure into the plot later slightly. **

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to This Never Happened. Same AU, same continuum. This picks up sometime after This Never Happened left off, when the court returns to Cordonia. The important thing to know is that Riley strung Drake and Liam along at the same time but ultimately chose the king. 
> 
> For sneak peeks, follow me on my choices blog on tumblr at boneandfur.tumblr.com


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